


Too Many Stars

by Klioud



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alcohol, Artistic Liberties, Changing Tenses, Duty, Emotional Hurt, Epilogue, Familial Love, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Loss, Love, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Suicide, Post-Chapter 14, Psychological Trauma, Strong Language, mentions of body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-23 10:55:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9652859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klioud/pseuds/Klioud
Summary: OG. Post-Chapter 14/Epilogue. Contains Spoilers.The world changes. Iris tries to find her place in it.“I missed you,” she sputters out. Her voice cracks in all the wrong places. Gladdy does not meet her eyes. But he takes her into his arms. This hug is unfamiliar. His back rounds out and his arms just barely cage her in. Like he cannot bear to hold her close.Breath catching in her throat, her arms wrap around him and squeeze.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as just being nine hundred words long. Then somehow it spiraled out of control and became this.
> 
> A heads-up that this is heavily Amicitia-focused!

Iris wakes without her cell phone buzzing against her thigh.

Its absence leaves her feeling sluggish. Her alarm could always be counted on to push the drowsiness from her. Languidly, one hand rubs around her eyes. The other slides along the many pockets of her pants. No cell phone.

It must have slipped out. Her hand pats between her thigh and the armrest. Nothing. She slips her fingers between the armrest and the seat cushion. A fingertip catches on the edge of something plastic. Bingo.

Pressing squarely on either foot, she lifts her bottom just off the seat. It makes it easier to pull the cell phone clear. As Iris drops into the armchair again, she taps the power button on her phone. The display reads five forty-two in the morning. 

She had set her alarm for six. 

Stifling the groan in her throat, Iris pockets the device. This is a betrayal. There are only so many hours each day she can allot to sleep. They are to patrol the power lines today. She hates operating on little sleep. And her sleep had not been deep enough for her to feel well-rested. It had been more like sweat, she thinks: clammy and itchy. And rolling off her skin. Off her consciousness.

It must have been the streetlights that disturbed her. They bother her sometimes. Not as often as they used too. Not as they did when she was fifteen and still a stranger to Lestallum. Back then, there had been curtains. Now there are none. The Leville had been stripped of its curtains years ago, so that the streetlights fall unimpeded through the windows. Usually, Iris would rotate the armchair so that it faces both the door and her shadow cast against it. But she had been too weary to. 

If not the streetlights, then it might be the humidity. There is no sun. There has not been one for nearly ten years. Yet Lestallum still sweats. It is the meteor, the electricity, the narrow streets. The people. In this hotel room alone, Iris knows there should be nine of them. Glances over her shoulder at them. The two queen beds had been pushed together, so that hunters lie across the naked mattresses. They are a heap of flesh and breath. But mostly they are a source of heat. There are more of them on the floor too. One hunter, his head collapsed against his collarbone, leans against the footboard. Another sleeps with his head against his fellow's calf.

It makes her sweat even more just to look at them all. Iris is glad for the armchair. It is preferable to both the dog pile and the floor. Even if she is sleeping upright. They must know this too, she thinks. It was why they chose to afford her the armchair in the first place. Her hands fold over the armrests and squeeze. They have attached a lot to her name. An armchair. A title. _Daemon-slayer._

Her cell phone finally buzzes against her leg.

Getting to her feet, Iris slides a hand into her pocket. Swipes the alarm off. She fits a hand on her hip and raises the other over her head. Tilts sideways. And stops.

The sky is brightening.

Another betrayal. Her eyes are playing tricks on her. Or her mind is. The sky is sable and sterile. It holds no colour; it holds nothing but rain and lightning. And the sun out of reach.

But colour affects it now. Like a blush.

This is the _end_ , she senses. And somewhere in a room below them, a child begins to wail. 

Iris is out on the balcony in an instant. The doors thud against the walls. Words thud against the backs of her teeth. Only, she has no breathe to say them with. Taking the railing into her hands, Iris leans out over it. The horizon is mostly obscured by buildings, but she can still see a part of it.

The sun is rising.

That child screams even louder. Like a siren. It sounds too young to have known the sun. It must have been born into the eternal night. Many children have, Iris knows. They learn to use words like _morning_ and _afternoon_ , but that is all these things are to them: just words. So she is not surprised when more screeches rise and ricochet off the concrete. 

But Iris had been born under the sun on the hottest day on record in Insomnia. 

She can hear the hunters roll onto their feet behind her. Hear them scramble for their weaponry. They let out bewildered noises and loose words that die in the air. She can hear more cries erupt throughout Lestallum. Some sound older. Maybe they do not remember the sun. 

The sun clears the horizon. Its light bleeds into the city and through the windows. It washes out the glow of the streetlamps. Someone is screaming. It is her, she realizes. Rocks back on her heels and tips her chin up toward the bluing sky. Then she drops her chin and leans back out over the railing again. 

Since the eternal night began, the pavilion below her balcony has been filthy and crowded with refugees. As have the streets and alleyways. The refugees have made homes from scraps. From discarded metal, old fabric, and splintered wood. She watches as they crawl from their makeshift shelters now. They shriek too. It is so loud, she thinks her ears might collapse in on themselves. And her whole body almost seems to feel each sound. Feet pounding the pavement. Doors and windows being thrown wide open. Dogs howling. In the distance, she thinks that someone fires a gun. Towards the sky, she hopes. A soldier's welcome for the sun.

Some hunters join her on the balcony. One runs so quickly she nearly flips herself over the railing as she skids to a stop. There is something like a door smacking the wall behind her. The other hunters must be running out of the hotel room to find their friends and family. Or perhaps just to meet the sun down on the pavement below. Iris does not turn to look. Instead, she finds herself yelling again. Something unintelligible.

The sun has stolen their sanity. People are stripping down to their undergarments. They dance and shout. It has stolen hers too. Stepping back from the railing, Iris sheds her jacket. Raises both hands toward the sun and frames it between her palms. The sun continues to rise, and she adjusts her hands as it moves. Yells again. It sounds kind of like a _thank you_.

Something catches her eye, and she drops both her hands and gaze. The pavilion is practically glowing. Sunlight touches the trash and the dilapidated shelters. It touches the chipped concrete and the gaunt faces. The defunct water fountain and its foul water. And the sunlight turns it all to gold. These things shine brighter than any streetlamp.

Music starts to play down in the lobby of the Leville. The force of it, and everything else, pulses through the walls and into her feet.

There is no sense left in the world, she thinks. But there is sunlight. And that is enough.

Only two hunters remain with her on the balcony. Before she knows it, they are all dancing. They kick her jacket back into the hotel room. They hoot and twirl around each other. Their hands slide into place, fingers entwining, and just as smoothly slip out. 

Iris is left panting, more from screaming than dancing. Some sense has returned to her by now. Enough to think to call Gladdy. He must be seeing this too, from wherever he is. Hammerhead, most likely. She needs to share it with him. Needs to hear the sunlight in his voice.

For some reason, her hands tremble. From the sunlight, maybe. Like it has a weight of its own. But she manages to dial his number. It rings three times.

“The number you have dialled is currently unavailable,” it tells her. 

She punches in the numbers again, just in case. 

“The number you have dialled is currently unavailable,” it tells her again.

Talcott, then. Except that her cell phone slips through her fingers and smashes itself against the floor. The screen shatters. The back of the cell phone skids away. It is dramatic; it is ridiculous.

“Too bad,” the hunter on her right says. “You could borrow mine, if you want.”

In the room below, the child has stopped screaming. It must have stopped a while ago. She just had not noticed. Now, it sounds like the child is giggling instead of crying. 

Iris giggles too. And shakes her head.

Borrowing a broom from the janitorial closet on their floor, Iris begins to sweep up the remains of her cell phone. And stops to admire it. The sunlight catches along its edges. It beads up on the specks of glass scattered on the balcony. They twinkle like stars.

* * *

An hour later, Iris scores a seat in a clunker headed for Hammerhead. The other seats fill rapidly. The roadways and parking lots are jammed with vehicles. Car horns blare. People shout to each other over the hum of machinery. Lestallum is spilling over. Yet some are less enthusiastic than others. The passenger seated behind her places his heels on the seat. Pulls his knees to his chest with his arms.

“It won't stay,” he mutters. Iris tries not to listen. But she can understand his doubt. It makes her look towards the sun. She takes a ray to the eye. Winces.


	2. Chapter 2

By the driver's cell phone, Iris measures that the daylight has lasted for nine hours now.

She also knows they should already be in Hammerhead. But the roads are a step beyond disrepair: they are in ruins. They have not seen a single daemon since leaving Lestallum, but those monsters have left their mark. She sees them in the trees and pieces of buildings spilling across the roadways. In the vehicles abandoned in the lanes, some pitched onto their sides or roofs. Sees it in the garbage and the tattered clothing that drape themselves across and in the shadows of debris. Like algae in a fish tank, she thinks. 

This is nothing new. Iris had already known what condition the roads were in from her expeditions. Even still, there is something different about seeing it all in the daylight. The devastation stretches beyond the roads themselves. The earth is naked and bleak. What vegetation left is long dead. More bones than foliage. Yet somehow, it looks smaller. It felt bigger in the dark, she thinks.

Maybe it is because of the sky. Iris helps to push a rusted jalopy, tires long gone flat, out of the way. After, she brushes her gloved hands against each other and looks up. It is too big. Too blue and cloudless. All this debris could not obscure that blue.

An hour later, clouds begin to slip into the sky. They smooth themselves out into thin sheets and pass over the sun. Iris can still see its glow through the clouds, but it makes her bones feel hollow anyways. Makes each breath she takes longer. And more infrequent.

“Can I borrow your phone?” she asks the driver. The woman nods and points to the device in the cup holder between them.

“It's nearly out of juice, but go for it.”

Picking it up, she turns it over in her hands. The screen is cracked. And just as the driver said, the battery is low. It is awkward to manoeuvre her thumbs around the cracks. But she manages to dial Talcott. It rings twice before he picks up.

“Hello?” He sounds quite muffled through the speaker. Instinctively, Iris presses the phone closer to her ear.

“Hey, it's me. I'm on my way to Hammerhead.” She pauses. And then quickly adds, “Iris. It's Iris.”

“Oh, Iris!” The speaker crackles. “It's good to hear from you. Yeah, I've been staying at Hammerhead myself.”

“I thought you were.” Leaning over, she rests her shoulder against the passenger door. “Hey, is Gladdy there with you?”

“No, he isn't. Actually, he's—” Talcott cuts out. And her stomach lurches. 

“He's what? Talcott?” Panic makes her voice breathless. Lifting her shoulder away from the door, Iris checks the cell phone's battery display.

“He's fine, he's fine. Sor...” The speaker crepitates again and again, “...ception this way is pretty bad. We're... ing into the... the tow... damaged. I'll call... reception is... I promise.”

“My phone's busted.” Her other hand moves to cradle the receiver. “Talcott, my phone's busted.”

No answer.

When she looks at the display, she sees that the call has ended. And that the battery icon is red. At least they are both okay.

It is nine o'clock when night falls. The clunker makes the short off-road trip to a haven. The havens had been winking out, one by one, in the eternal night. The ones that had stayed active had looked so dim then. But now, in this approaching darkness, its veins seem to burn brighter than ever.

Everyone is silent as they set up camp. Even the most optimistic among them do not speak. The sheet clouds have settled themselves in front of the moon. It too shines through their flat forms. Yet there is something terrifying about being unable to see it; about being unable to trace its edges against the darkness.

They pull out their rations of canned foods and raisins. As they eat, the only sound is that of their cutlery scraping the inside of cans. And their chewing. Discreetly, Iris raises her eyes to the sky. She has done this many times throughout their meal. The clouds have not shifted.

Lowering her gaze, she finds herself meeting the stare of the muttering man. Iris does not know his name. She holds his gaze evenly; holds her breath shakily. After a few more seconds, he breaks away and scoots himself closer to the fire.

No one speaks when they lie down to sleep. Iris does not think anyone will sleep; she does not even try. Instead, she sits on the edge of the haven and stares out across at the dark landscape. 

This is not the endless night. It is too quiet to be. Iris only hears the crackle of the flames, and a dry cough from someone lying down behind her. But she finds her hands folding over each other anyways. Finds herself praying for the first time in years.

It is awkward and uncomfortable. The gods are long dead, she must remind herself. And her hands feel heavy in her lap.

So she stops. Retreating from the edge, Iris takes to exercise instead. She starts with push-ups. Iris is careful not to grunt too loudly; she does not want to disturb the other travellers. Especially not the muttering man. He sits facing the fire, his back turned to her. After numerous sets, she gets her to feet. Next, Iris tries do a jumping jack. Except her boots land too loudly. The person nearest to her rolls over with eyes wide and piercing.

And then their eyes turn away. Iris follows their gaze up to the sky. The clouds have moved on. The moon is an imperfect and slight shape in the sky. But it sheds light unto them. Her eyes trace the inside edge of the crescent. At its tip, her eyes leave it and flit between the stars. There are so many of them now. She does not remember there being this many. Or them being so bright. Looking at them now, it seems impossible that the eternal night could have kept their light out.

Enchanted, they lead Iris back to the edge. She leans back on her hands. Gazes up at each sparkling form. They are innumerable. Iris tries to connect the old constellations with her eyes. To pick their shapes out from this sea of lights. But she cannot draw a single one. Another thing she has lost to the eternal night. And now there are too many stars for her to find the familiar patterns again. Iris cannot help but be reminded of the glass screen of her cell phone and its dust. Countless glittering specks of sunlight. And she can almost hear the people of Lestallum still. 

She wonders if maybe all the people they have lost have become stars themselves. 

Iris spends the final hours of the night trying to decide which star would be her father.

* * *

Not one daemon had appeared at the edges of their haven. The shadowy landscape was only that: dark and quiet. Just as the night should have always been.

The sun returns somewhere between five and six. It is just as beautiful, if not more so, than it had been the first time.


	3. Chapter 3

Iris was right. No one looks like they slept. All of them either have shadows or bags underneath their eyes. Yet the sun returns colour to their faces. And although they might look tired, they certainly do not act like it. As they continue onward to Hammerhead, some passengers and the driver herself lean out of the sides of the vehicle. They burst with noise. Some raise their arms and howl at the sun.

At the pass between Duscae and Leide, Iris thinks she can hear someone howl back. It might just be the wind, she reasons, whistling through the collapsed fortress. Or through the branches of the surrounding skeletal trees. Or even through that car in the ditch, flipped on its side and straining under the weight of rust.

But she likes to think that it is the sun calling back to them. 

Two hours later, Hammerhead slips into view. The passengers yell in chorus. She joins in too. Iris suspects that the muttering man does as well. But his mouth is a flat line when she glances at him. 

As they get closer to their destination, it becomes clear that Hammerhead is busy. Iris does not think she has ever seen it busier. There are too many vehicles and people milling about for them to pull into the parking lot. Instead, they have to park on the shoulder of the road and walk in on foot.

The noise is almost deafening. Vehicles purr. People shout and laugh. As Iris passes through the crowd, she recognizes some of these faces. And some of them recognize her face too. They stop her to shake her hand and to offer congratulations. Some reach out and pat her bicep with their other hand; she returns the gesture.

“Iris!” 

She hardly has the time to turn around before she is enveloped in a hug. With her arms pinned to her sides, Talcott hoists her a few inches off the ground. And spins. He laughs uncontrollably, and she wiggles in his hold.

“Put me down!” Iris demands. Laughing too.

Talcott sets her down after the second spin. The world slips around her as she tries to get her bearings.

“You know, when the sun came up, I called you. I was almost worried when you didn't answer your phone,” Talcott says.

“Almost?” she asks. Raises an eyebrow. If Talcott is trying to hide his grin behind his hand, he is failing to.

“Yeah, well, it's you. Nothing could take you down.”

“You make me sound like a monster." She laughs. Raps her knuckles on the inside of his arm. He just laughs too.

They break away from the crowd, finding themselves a spot along the fence line. Iris leans against the wire fence as Talcott launches into his story. He tells her that Prince Noctis has returned. He tells her that her brother, Ignis, and Prompto had gone with with the prince to Insomnia. Something stings at that. Just underneath her rib cage.

Talcott turns to face the sun. Raising a hand to the brim of his hat, he tips it up further. And he smiles in a way that looks just as uncontrollable as his laughter had been earlier. It reminds her of a crooked dartboard on the wall and thick mulch underneath her bare knees. Of the scent of the sea.

“I can't wait for them to get back!” 

“Yeah.” The word slips through her lips. It sounds breathless. Only, Talcott does not seem to notice. Instead, he turns his smile towards her. And she tries to match it with her own. Feels the shape of her mouth quiver.

“Have you heard from Gladdy since?” she manages to ask. His smile slackens.

“No, uh, I haven't. Have you?”

Shaking her head, she asks to borrow his cell phone. Talcott gladly gives it to her, and says, “I'll be at Takka's.”

They exchange nods as he disappears into the crowd. Then Iris looks down at the cell phone in her hands. Trembling a little, she dials.

“The number you have dialled is currently unavailable,” it tells her. Iris tries three more times. It is insane, she knows. But she tries anyways. Only the automated message answers her each time.

Later, she finds Talcott in Takka's Pit Stop. He is crouched over a can of corn and armed with a spoon. As he chews, he raises both eyebrows at her.

“No answer.” Iris tries to keep her voice level. Swallowing, he points the spoon at the ceiling.

“Guess his phone is dead.” Something pinches her left lung.

“I'm going to Insomnia tomorrow,” Iris says, almost too quickly. Talcott nods vigorously.

“We can take my truck,” he says. Digs his spoon into the tin. And holds it up to her. “Hungry?”

She nearly says no.

* * *

The day passes quickly. There are roads that need clearing. Supplies that need to be recovered from abandoned homes and old hunter safe houses. There is traffic to direct as more and more cars pull into view. Neither Iris nor Talcott get another chance to rest until the sun disappears behind the horizon.

There are not enough beds in Hammerhead to accommodate everyone. The three campers that line the eastern fence are full. Without looking inside, Iris knows each camper must be like a hotel room in the Leville: bodies pressed against each other, limbs draped over the forms of strangers.

Fortunately, there are a lot of cars. And there is both the diner and the garage. Cindy hoists the bay-door up, allowing people to huddle inside the garage. People lower themselves into the seats and the beds of vehicles. Some even sleep on the roofs of cars. Iris herself has been granted first access to the passenger seat she arrived in. She declines the offer. A minute later, someone else crawls into it instead. 

Talcott sleeps in his truck. As do a few other people. 

“There's room for you, if you want,” he tells her. 

“Thanks.” Iris means it. “I'm just— I'm not going to sleep just yet." His mouth twitches. She thinks he gets it.

It is easier to pass through the parking lot now. Except that some people, bundled up in sleeping bags, are also lying on the pavement. She nearly steps on someone. Twice.

Cindy is one of the few people still awake. Iris finds her leaning against the man-door to her garage. Her bare arms are crossed. It is strange to see the pale skin of her arms and torso again. The mechanic had taken to wearing coveralls during the eternal night. Now its sleeves are tied together at her waist. And her orange bra looks washed-out under the streetlights.

Iris notices the thick bags under her eyes when she asks to borrow the woman's cell phone. They make Cindy's expression look heavier. Make her smiles look heavier too. But the woman smiles anyway. When Cindy gives it to her, Iris punches in his number on the spot. It rings three times. The same automated message plays.

“Get some rest, ya hear?” Cindy tells her. Handing her cell phone back, Iris nods stiffly. Out of habit, she almost says something similar back to Cindy. But the mechanic has already turned her gaze toward the night sky. So Iris just thanks her. And slips away.

She finds herself gravitating toward the wooden watch platform. She can make out the shape of someone standing on the observation deck. Waving up at them, they wave back. Taking that as permission, Iris climbs up the two sets of stairs to the top.

The watchman thanks her.

“I haven't slept in thirty-six hours,” he murmurs it like it is a secret. Maybe it is. Iris just nods and allows him to excuse himself.

Now she is alone. Only a lone stool and a wall of crates stand with her. Leaning against the crates, Iris stares up at the stars. She still has not decided on the one for her father. Not one that feels right anyways. But this is a good place to view the stars from. 

Someone howls. She feels it more than she hears. It seems so distant. It is her brother, she hopes. Answering her in whatever way he can.


	4. Chapter 4

It took Iris a full day to get inside Insomnia.

The morning after, she had met Talcott at his truck. Three hunters sat in the bed of it, leaving them little room to put their baggage and weaponry. They knocked shoulders with each other as she neared them. And she thought one of them had mouthed the words _Daemon-slayer_. It seemed she did not need an introduction. Iris gave one anyways.

Talcott took the wheel and put the pedal to the metal. But the roads worked against them. There was the familiar debris: fragments of buildings, uprooted trees, and abandoned vehicles. There were also the rusting remains of airships and mechanical troopers. On occasion, they found their path blocked by the slouched forms of enormous mechanized suits. Or by heaps of dismembered Magitek soldiers.

His truck could only take so many sharp edges against its tires before one blew. Talcott had to pull over to replace it. He would go on to claim that the replacement tire was some kind of good luck charm, as none of the other tires deflated or popped the rest of the way.

But their luck ended on the outskirts of the crown city. The damage to the bridges and the gateways was extensive. Some of the rubble could not be moved by hand or towed aside by Talcott's truck alone. They left the truck behind and continued in on foot.

She can hear the hunters murmur to each other. One whistles low at the sight of the wreckage. They make their way through it. On the other side of the gates, they come across a team of hunters. While they drove, Talcot had explained that they were to meet with the Insomnia sentry unit. And that there were supposed to be five of them. Only, there are just four.

“Went to Lestallum,” a hunter says when asked. “He left as soon as the sun came up.”

Together, they climb over the shards of the city and further into it. It is difficult to process it all. Iris remembers the city as it was: sterling and bright. Its destruction she can recall only in blurry pieces. The fires and the screaming have long since passed. What is left here is nothing like any of her memories. The damage she sees is old and comfortable. Collapsed buildings look as if they were built to be such. A nearby billboard advertising cologne is seared irreparably at one end. And somehow still serene. The buildings that do stand, with their window displays and storefront signage unscathed, are deserted and dim. And alien.

Insomnia bears disaster like it did anything: with elegance.

Iris tries to piece her memories together with what she sees. Like puzzle pieces, she thinks. Wrong edges meet and scratch in her mind. But one by one, the pieces begin to fit together.

Suddenly, her hands feel too empty. 

Exactly like puzzle pieces, she realizes. And her hands find the straps of her backpack and squeeze. When she completes the puzzle, she will not be in its picture. She belongs to something else now: a different puzzle. Or maybe she is a star belonging to a different constellation.

With this in mind, Iris resists the urge to go back to her old house. Feels a pang in her stomach. It has no place for her anymore. 

They move cautiously through the streets. And slowly. Iris has to remind herself to be patient. The hunters are here to determine if Insomnia is safe to retake. They need to examine and mark down their findings.

But she is not here for that.

“Let's head for the palace,” Iris blurts out. Some of the hunters look at her oddly. 

“That's not a bad idea,” a hunter says. “Insomnia's heart it is, then.”

“Sounds good,” Talcott says. Glancing at him, Iris wonders what he remembers of the city. If anything. His expression is hard to read right now. Re-adjusting the sternum strap of her backpack, Iris takes the lead.

Her brother and the others will be at the palace. She hopes.

They discover, as they walk through an abandoned subway line, that Insomnia has no power running. It makes her feel like Gladdy's cell phone might really just be dead. Those with cell phones keep them powered off. They turn them on at specific hours to check for messages. When they come out the other side of the tunnel, they find the sky beginning to darken.

Although no one spots any daemons, they collectively agree to find shelter for the night. They retreat inside the subway line. A hunter discovers a small dormitory for subway conductors. Iris is surprised by how uncomfortable it is for her to sleep in a pile again. She should be used to darkness and cramped spaces. To her feet pressing into the backs of strangers. Their arms lying across her stomach and above her head. She has slept like this countless times on her expeditions. It must be her armchair, Iris thinks, spoiling her.

A sleepless hour later, she knows her armchair has nothing to do with it.

It is too dark; it is too much like the endless night. If she wakes hours later to a sky just as black, Iris does not know what she will do. Wilt, maybe. Just as the flower she shares her name with would. 

She should be able to bear a second eternal night. But Iris does not think she would.

* * *

Iris does not make it to the palace.

They have just turned onto Flos Avenue when she recognizes her brother's figure in the distance. She yells his name and starts to run. The pistol and brass knuckles hanging on her belt beat a bit against her thighs. Beating in sync with her heartbeat.

She cannot read their expressions at this distance. But they walk with their arms swishing slightly at their sides. Almost mechanically. And there is something about the way their legs move that tells her that it is difficult for them to walk. As though they are straining to move under the sunlight itself.

They walk like a quadrupedal thing just made three-legged.

Iris comes to an abrupt halt. Talcott and the other hunters catch up with her. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees his wide grin gradually disappear. He must see it as well.

Her feet move of their own accord. Both she and Talcott walk and meet them at the next intersection, under a traffic light. The other hunters hang back. Up close, her brother's expression is stony. As are Ignis and Prompto's faces. They say nothing. Only nod their heads to greet them. Iris tries to speak, but her throat is too dry.

She hands her water bottle to Gladdy, while Talcott hands his to Prompto. Gladdy only takes a swig before passing it to Ignis. 

“I missed you,” she sputters out. Her voice cracks in all the wrong places. Gladdy does not meet her eyes. But he takes her into his arms. This hug is unfamiliar. His back rounds out and his arms just barely cage her in. Like he cannot bear to hold her close.

Breath catching in her throat, her arms wrap around him and squeeze.


	5. Chapter 5

Ignis has a plan.

They wait on the sidewalk as Talcott paces circles in the middle of the street. Some of the hunters sit on the short staircase that lead up to the windows and doors of a commercial building. Iris stands at the top of the stairs, trying not to stare at her brother.

Talcott lowers the phone from his ear.

“Holly says we're a go,” Talcott shouts to them. Joining them at the bottom of the stairway, he points at the lit call screen. “She's sending a team our way as soon as she can.”

“Good.” Gladdy leans against the door to a nail salon. Ignis and Prompto stand on either side of him. “Then you'll need to turn back. Or split up. They'll want a small escort.”

“For protection?” a hunter asks. She clutches the hilt of her shortsword. Likely on instinct. “Are there still daemons here?”

Gladdy bows his head a little. And does not speak.

“For luggage. EXINERIS cannot drive in, as you all discovered, so they will need help carrying their materials,” Ignis says, adjusting the sit of his glasses. “You needn't fear the daemons any longer. They are gone.”

“For good,” Iris just barely hears Prompto say. When she glances at him, he is fidgeting with the hem of his coat.

“So... it's really over?” Talcott asks.

Iris turns her eyes back to her brother. His lips part. Then shut. He nods instead.

It seems to take a few seconds for it to sink in. Then a hunter laughs. As does another. A few of them turn to their comrades and pat each other on the backs and shoulders. One of them frames the face of their friend between his hands. And gives the giggling hunter a kiss on either cheek. Talcott touches her elbow. His smile is small and apprehensive. Her own feels too faint on her face.

The Crownsguard smile too. Except that there is something wrong about the shape of their mouths. The set of their jaws. About the unbending line of their eyebrows. Her tiny smile falters. Talcott looks away sharply, his smile dimming.

After a few minutes, the hunters quiet down. Talcott frowns slightly and clears his throat. “So, we should probably split up then. One group can head back, one to the plant. And the rest can keep going with the inspections. How do we want to do this?”

He and a number of the hunters glance at her. Maybe they expect her to decide. It takes Iris a few moments to find her voice.

“Thomas,” she starts, “And Randall. Ah, and Sophia. You can head to the power—”

“We've got the power plant,” Gladdy interrupts. He motions to Prompto. Turns to speak to Ignis. “Come on.”

A heartbeat thuds against her rib cage. It makes Iris lurch forward.

“I'll go with you,” Iris says. Desperate.

Gladdy pauses. His eyes skate over her.

“Sure,” is all he says. Only it does not sound like a _yes_.

Her stomach drops. Her voice disappears. To buy herself time to find it, Iris wets her lips. Nods her head a few times.

“Okay then,” Iris says, when she manages to speak again. “Okay. So. Let's keep the same team, but Gloria and Adriano, you go with them too. You're on escort duty. And Talcott—” She stops. Talcott looks at her solemnly.

“I'll go with them,” he says begrudgingly. Bows his head a little. “Holly's team is expecting me to meet them anyways.”

“Thanks,” she says. And absently rubs the knuckles of her right hand. “The rest of you can keep on going.”

As the hunters begin to sort themselves into their teams, Talcott presses his cell phone into her hands. 

“Take it,” her friend says. “Everyone's number is in it. I'll let Holly know to call me on Gloria's.” He lets go. “And remember to turn it on every two hours. Our phones will be on then too.”

“Keep it,” Gladdy says to Talcott. They both turn to look at her brother. He pats the pocket of his coat. “We have ours. Two, four, six, every even hour, right?”

Talcott looks surprised. She must look so too, she knows.

“Yeah,” he answers. “That's right.”

The edges of her jaw aches. When Gladdy is not looking, Iris closes her fingers around the cell phone. She slips it inside her pant pocket. Gives Talcott a solemn nod. He looks confused. But maybe he will understand later.

Each team begins to walk their separate ways. Hunters wave to each other and yell in farewell.

“You better have the place cleaned up real good,” a hunter calls out to them. “Or those EXINERIS girls will kick all our asses!”

She should laugh, she knows. Instead, Iris just nods and waves back.

* * *

Iris cannot find her voice.

She has so much to ask them. So much to tell them. But as they walk, the men maintain a good pace and silence. When they do speak, it is just to say _watch out_. Or _this way_. And _almost there_. All words dissolve on her tongue. This silence is too big a thing for her to shatter on her own.

That night, they break into a second-floor apartment. Daemons have been here, she thinks. The doors to the cupboards hang on their hinges or lie scattered across the kitchenette floor. As do pieces of dishware. The couch on the other side of the overturned dining table is scratched and bleeding stuffing. Regardless, Prompto flops himself down onto it. And Ignis disappears somewhere down the short hallway. Probably into a second bedroom. Iris does not look. 

“Take that one,” Gladdy says. Jabs a thumb in the direction of what used to be a master bedroom. And then he slides into the lone armchair in this living room.

“We can share it.” Her voice shakes a little. “I don't mind.”

“I'm comfortable where I am,” he tells her. He does not look it. 

Another heartbeat hits her bones.

“Okay,” Iris says quietly. Rubs the knuckles of her hand with her other. Then, “Good night.” Someone hums in response. Maybe Prompto.

Iris half-shuts the scratched up door and crawls under the tattered duvet covers. Surprisingly, one of the pillows is unharmed. Pinning it under her head, Iris shuts her eyes. There are no lit streetlights. And the windows are curtained. She should be able to sleep.

Instead, she thinks about a prince. And everything she wants to say.


	6. Chapter 6

Iris passes the night practising lines. Like _how can I help?_ And _when you're ready to talk, I'm here for you_. Jared had said these things before to her. It had helped then. She hopes it will now.

A part of her had also hoped that things would just be different in the morning. But when she leaves the master bedroom, she finds only three men waiting for her in the living room.

“Good morning,” she says. Almost too quickly. Ignis nods in her general direction. This time she knows it is Prompto who hums back. 

“Morning,” Gladdy says. 

They gather their belongings and set out. Her friends are just as quiet today as they were yesterday. Her mouth moves through the shapes of sentences. Only, she does not speak them. Not yet.

“I'm hungry,” Prompto says. At this point, they have been walking along Insomnia's deserted streets for about an hour. Iris halts and makes to shrug off her backpack. She and Talcott had packed extra cans of vegetables and fruit for them. Then she stops when she notices Gladdy pointing at a nearby grocery store.

“Let's go,” he says. And he picks up a bent metal bar from the surrounding rubble.

When they fail to pry open the glass doors, Gladdy swings at them with the metal bar. Repeatedly. The glass shatters. No alarms sound. Carefully, they step over broken glass and into the store. And into a horrible stench. Iris hikes up the front of her jacket over her nose. Gags. The boys disperse, with Prompto and Ignis heading for an aisle marked for canned goods. Gladdy tears open the plastic packaging on a case of water bottles. 

“Here,” he motions to her. Pinching her nose through the fabric, Iris goes over to him. He drops a few bottles into her arms.

The smell of long-rotten foodstuff nearly kills her appetite. Iris suspects that it has the same effect on her friends. Prompto and Ignis return only holding a few cans each.

To her relief, they retreat onto the street to heat the cans. They take their seats on disaster; Iris sits down on an overturned cement blockade. While she digs out mismatched cutlery from her bag, Gladdy readies the backpacking stove. It looks relatively new. There are only a few scratches on its surface. She notices then that his backpack does too. They must have lifted other supplies as well.

“All ready,” Gladdy says. Mouthing another sentence to herself, Iris hands out the cutlery. She will say it at the end of the meal. _When you're ready to talk, I'm here for you._

She cannot say it.

Iris listens to the sound of metal grazing metal. And plastic water bottles collapsing in on themselves. This is a silence she cannot break. _Daemon-slayer,_ a hunter had mouthed. It feels like ages ago now. And she is still worth only an armchair.

They arrive at the power plant by two o'clock. To their good fortune, the plant itself does not appear to be too badly damaged. 

“We should snap some photos,” Gladdy says, pulling out his cell phone. “Send them to Holly. She'll need to let her people know what they're working with.”

“Let's send it to Gloria and Talcott too,” Prompto says. “Give them a heads-up.”

Iris pulls out Talcott's cell phone. Gladdy's eyebrows raise ever so slightly at the sight of it. He must recognize the cactuar case.

“Just Gloria then,” he says.

Prompto, Gladdy, and Iris take pictures as they clear away what rubble they can. There is no room for speaking. Only grunting. The broken pieces of concrete are the hardest to move by hand. They pull bits of metal and crumpled signage from the debris. Some clothing too. They place these things off to the side.

At the plant proper, they find more debris waiting for them. They manage to clear the way to the control room. There are no windows, so they have to turn on their flashlights. Ignis turns his on just so they can find him in the dark. The control room is in complete disarray. Some computer screens are cracked. One looks like its monitor had exploded. Its dust coats the desk it sits on and the nearby computers. Many wires are loose or cut.

“This part is all you,” Gladdy says. Prompto takes a deep breath.

“I'll see what I can do.”

They leave him to the computers and their countless wires. There is more debris to clear out in the rest of the plant. Like a desk snapped in two and bristling with splinters. And the shattered remains of light bulbs. Iris wishes they had stolen a broom from a store too.

They meet back in the control room hours later. Prompto has produced a broom from somewhere and cleaned the tables and floor of glass and dust. Ignis takes a seat on a rolling chair with a busted wheel. Iris and Gladdy sit too. Prompto has them all ripping out cables he has deemed unusable from the walls and the backs of computer towers. They dispose of them into cardboard boxes they had found in one of the other rooms. Prompto flits between the three of them and the few computers he thinks can be salvaged.

One of the wires she has been told to scrap looks good. Calling Prompto over, Iris nearly asks him then. _How can I help?_ But his lips are such a tight line when he is not speaking. And his eyebrows pinch together just slightly in concentration. Another thing she cannot break. 

When they have ripped out the last of the cords, Prompto falls into a rolling chair himself.

“Almost done,” he says. “Where do we head to next after they get here?”

“To the main gates,” Ignis replies. He does not spin his chair around to face them. “We'll need to help move heavy equipment into the city.”

“Good idea,” Gladdy says.

“We should go to Hammerhead,” Iris blurts out. She thinks she startles them; she definitely startled herself. It takes her a few seconds to realize that she is standing up.

“Insomnia is where we are needed,” Ignis says. The other two grunt. Agreeing with him, she realizes. Her heartbeat hits her throat.

“Cindy could use the help,” she says. And she sees Prompto mouth the name. _Cindy._ He almost looks confused. Like he is trying to remember who the name belongs to.

“We'll help her when we can,” Gladdy says. “We've got a job to do here.”

“What job?!” Something cracks in her. Leaves her pulse racing. Her arms swing emphatically. “What happened?!”

Gladdy turns his face away from her. Ignis does not move. But Prompto makes a tiny noise. Her eyes snap to him. He just shifts in his chair. Folds over himself and shakes his head over his knees. Eyes stinging, she looks at her brother again. A hand is raised to his face. His thumb cradles his chin. Pointer finger rests alongside his nose. His middle finger lies against his lips. Sealing them shut.

This is wrong. This is not the way she practised it. Yet the words beat against the inside of her lungs. Beats the air out of her.

“Where's Noctis?”

Nothing moves. Except for her tears. They track down her cheeks. Dribble off the edges of her jaw. It is hard to breathe. She should not have asked; she already knew the answer. Hears it in Prompto's voice. _For good._

Gladdy's free hand closes into a fist. But he does not answer her. His silence scares her. At least when he yells, she can tell what he is thinking. 

“He's my friend too.” She sounds fifteen again: small and choking. Pathetic. Her palm finds the knuckles of her right hand.

“I know,” Gladdy finally says. His voice is not much louder than a whisper. Even still, there is an edge to it that cuts. “I know.”

Iris is out of words. Out of breath. The space between her and them presses down on her.

Despite the pressure, Ignis stands up.

“Let's finish cleaning up,” he says. “Where should we put these cables?” He nudges a box with his foot. It is an out. Her mouth is more than dry: it is bone. But she manages to spit out a word.

“R-right.” Iris stoops to pick up a cardboard box.

In silence, Prompto shows them the custodial closet he had found. They shove the boxes in. When they return to the control room, Prompto points out a few damaged computer towers and other useless electronics for them to put in the closet.

Iris tries to keep her head down and her mouth shut. But while carrying a defunct tower, she looks up. Gasps. The way that Prompto peers at them from around the closet door. The way Gladdy crouches to slide a computer tower between the boxes on the floor. The way Ignis checks with his foot that none of the boxes jut too far and interfere with the door before they shut it. Iris sees it now. They are bleeding out, she knows. Sustained only by adrenaline. 

And Insomnia wears their blood like it does anything: with elegance.

* * *

Much later, Iris steps outside the power plant and into the night. They cannot hear her out here. Leaning against the building, she turns on Talcott's cell phone. Iris taps her way to the call screen. Her fingers make to dial a number. Stops.

Iris has no more words left in her.

She should call Cindy. The mechanic could call them directly in the morning. They would not refuse her if she asked them for help, Iris knows. But she cannot make herself do it.

Instead, she texts the Marshal. It takes her a few seconds to punch out the text; it takes her five minutes to send it. Failing to swallow a sob, Iris curls forward over the phone.

_Noct is gone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATED 02/19/17: There was a continuity error involving Talcott's cell phone, so I had to add a few lines in this chapter to fix that.


	7. Chapter 7

The sky was no comfort. Something about it had seemed broken. It was a thing bristling with stars. She was not ready to pick one for Noctis. So she retreated back inside the power plant. When Iris came to the stairwell, she followed it down a level instead of up. It led her to a long hallway with many doors. Behind the first one on her left was a small locker room. Some of the lockers hung open with photographs still taped inside. Others had been stripped of their doors. Something about the sight made her wince. But Iris righted the overturned metal benches anyways. She pushed them together. Crumbled onto them. 

Eventually, she had cried herself to sleep. Iris had tried to be quiet about it. If her friends had heard her, they do not mention it now. They just nod at her when she enters the control room. The three of them sit in a half-circle, each cupping a tin of diced fruit in their hands. 

Delirious from little sleep, Iris has trouble pulling out her rolling chair. It takes a few tugs for its armrests to pop free from the desk. Rolling it into place between Prompto and Ignis, she sits. Someone hands her a can of fruit and a fork. 

The fruit is slimy. And almost bitter. Between bites, Iris glances up at the men. They keep their heads tilted down toward their tins. Their eyes too. But Prompto's leg bounces a bit. Nervously, her eyes train themselves on her meal. Her fingertips squeeze her fork too hard. It nearly slips out of her grip.

“I'm...” Her fork clicks against the lip of the tin. “... this is...” Iris does not know what she is trying to say. Maybe _sorry_. Lifting her eyes up, she sweeps her gaze across their faces. No one returns her look. And she can feel her skin press against her muscles and her bones. Makes these things feel small and brittle.

“We have a busy day today,” Ignis says. Another out.

Iris nods and digs into the can again. Pulls another piece of fruit from her fork with her teeth. When she swallows, it scrapes a path down the back of her throat.

Finished eating, they stack their tins one inside the other and place them beside a computer monitor. Ignis collects their cutlery. Taking a bottle of water, he goes to clean them in the obsolete men's bathroom. In the meantime, the others turn on their cell phones.

A text message is waiting for her from the Marshal. All it says is: _Thank you. I'll take care of it._ Immediately, Iris taps away from the message. The scrape in her throat stings. Her eyes do too.

Iris just about pockets the phone when it starts to vibrate in her hand. Startled, she nearly drops it. When she reads the display, she nearly drops it a second time: _Gloria._

She has to tell Talcott.

It buzzes a couple more times before Iris accepts the call. Lifts the phone to her ear.

“H-hello?”

“Good morning!” says Talcott. “I wanted to let you know, we're on our way back. I'm thinking we'll get there in about three days. Hm, maybe less. Some of their equipment's tricky to move, but there's a lot of us. So it isn't too bad.”

“Oh,” Iris says. She notices now how heavy her eyeballs feel. How much they ache. “I'll, uh, let the others know. Thanks.”

“Great,” Talcott says. There is something odd about the way he says it. It makes her free hand clutch her opposing wrist. There is a pause. Maybe he is waiting for her to say something.

“Okay,” she says. “Thanks for calling. I should go. We're still cleaning up.”

“Alright then,” Talcott says back. “See you then.”

Lowering the phone, she hangs up. The display tells her that their conversation lasted less than a minute. It does not feel like it. 

“That was Talcott,” she says to the others. Pocketing the phone, she makes for the door. “He thinks they'll take three days to get here.” 

Three days. She will tell him in person then. She does not want him to face this alone.

* * *

Iris only realizes how accustomed she has grown to silence when Talcott returns. He had not lied: there are dozens of them. When they catch sight of her, some wave their free hands. Most just shout their hellos. Numerous EXINERIS employees put down what they are carrying to shake her hand. Then they turn and make a show of humming and hawing over the power plant.

“We can make it work,” one of the employees announces. Pulling out a grungy suit from a bag, the woman kicks her leg into it. “Outta the way, people!”

Iris soon discovers that the EXINERIS women do not need the hunters or her help. They are women shaped from concrete and electricity. The power plant is theirs. At most, they send one or two hunters off to fetch them specific parts or tools from abandoned hardware stores. So the Crownsguard gather the remaining hunters and assigns tasks to them: clearing the streets, rounding up useable supplies, and inspecting the buildings for structural damage.

Iris tugs on Talcott's sleeve.

“Come on,” she says quietly. And they slip away.

The locker room is no longer hers. It too belongs to the EXINERIS women. Bags are piled along the back wall. Or stowed in the lockers and under the benches. Iris frees her backpack from under a heap.

“I need a new phone,” she tells him. Takes out her SIM card from her backpack. It is the only thing she had recovered from her old one.

“Alright then,” Talcott says. “Let's go.”

In silence, Iris leads him to the nearest electronics store. She and the Crownsguard had pillaged it two days earlier for new monitors and computer towers. The cell phones are at the back, she knows. Iris just did not want to pick up one then. 

Iris makes it six steps inside the store. Then her heartbeat hits her lungs. Pallid sunlight follows them inside. When she turns to face him, it blurs the edges of his form. Or maybe her tears are doing that.

Talcott is crying too.

“I know,” he says. So gently that it stings. “I figured, but— I hoped...” She steps toward him as he leans against a display counter. Bunching his pant legs in his fists, Talcott bends over. And lets out a low wail. Iris slips her arms around him. Places her forehead against his scalp. 

She has done this before. In a hotel room. Its carpet speckled with blood. And at the edge of a cliff. The wind cutting around their forms. Making the tear trails on their faces burn. She wishes she could hear the sea rumble now. Or the city hum. But there is only the sound of them here.

Talcott wraps an arm around her waist and sobs into her stomach. 

Later, Iris hands him back his cell phone. Slips her SIM card into her new one. It is a different model, but the same brand. It feels a little heavy in her pocket as they walk back to the power plant.

This must be what it is like to shed a layer of skin. Her senses feel so acute. So raw. The sunlight is almost too strong. Then the Crownsguard come into view again. They are moving debris aside to clear the street. Iris can feel flecks of dead skin on her. Each one weighs far more than her cell phone does.

* * *

By the end of the next day, power has been restored to the block.

“Don't you go drinking from any taps just yet,” says one of the EXINERIS women. “Gotta hit up the water treatment facility first.”

So Ignis uses bottled water to brew his coffee instead.

Iris remembers this old chain. When she was eleven, she had tried to convince Gladdy to buy her a coffee at one of these shops. He bought her hot chocolate instead. With extra whipped cream and sprinkles.

Now she leans heavily on one of its circular tables. Rests her cheek against its grimy surface. She watches Ignis as he feels his way about the commercial coffeemaker. He carries beans on his person, she knows. She has seen him brew coffee before. Even still, it is odd to see him do so in this derelict place. He moves against a backdrop of old memories.

Gladdy leans against the cashier’s counter. She wonders if he remembers this place too. He had always been good at remembering things.

The door chimes for the third time. It startles her just as much as before. Eyes jumping to Prompto, she sees him hold up his cell phone. Sees his jaw shift from side to side.

“So,” he says. “I, uh, called Cindy.”

“How is she?” Ignis asks. The coffeemaker begins to gurgle.

“Ah, she's good,” Promptos says. “But, maybe, uh, we should go back Hammerhead?” Iris nearly gasps. She quickly switches cheeks. And looks out the cracked window pane instead.

“There's still a lot of rebuilding to do here,” Gladdy says. “We've got to clean up the water plant next.”

“Yeah.” Prompto sounds discouraged. “I just— she said she could use the help. Just for a few days.”

Holding her breath, Iris tries not to speak. Or move. Her heartbeat is almost too loud in this pause.

“We do have a duty to all of Lucis,” Ignis says. Then she hears something splashing. He might be pouring the coffee now. “There are enough hunters here at present to cover for us. A few days would not hurt any.”

After a long pause, it sounds like Gladdy grunts.

“Fine,” Gladdy says. His voice is a touch too loud. Maybe he is directing this at her. “We'll go to Hammerhead.”

* * *

They say their goodbyes to the hunters and the EXINERIS team. Iris shakes so many hands. Pats so many shoulders and upper arms. Randall and Sophia choose now to reveal, off-the-record, their plan to raid a liquor store. They tell her that they will save a bottle of good whiskey for her. Iris laughs.

“Thanks,” she says. “Just, try to keep an eye on Thomas, okay? I'm pretty sure he likes the same brand as me.” She finds herself shooting them a wink. And laughing again.

Iris laughs a lot less when they begin their days-long trek back to the gates. At least they do not travel in total silence. Talcott is here with her this time. He tries his best to keep the conversation going. On his way to the power plant, the EXINERIS women had filled him in about recent news from Lestallum. They had also shared with him funny stories from their own lives. He tells them these things now. But the Crownsguard just let out a short breath or snort at the silly stories. If even that. For the most part, they seem interested only in hearing the news. So Iris and Talcott are left tittering with each other. 

As they travel, they pass by other groups of people. They are hunters and civilians. Families and found ones. The Crownsguard speak to them. But only to advise them not to drink the water yet. And to tell them what streets to avoid. Sometimes, they give them phone numbers to contact for help. Iris can recognize Gladdy's number among them. These groups thank them and continue on their way.

Eventually, they slip into silence. The Crownsguard climb into the bed of Talcott's truck while Iris and Talcott slide into the cabin. Talcott glances at his mirrors more than he should, she thinks. And at her too. She does her best to return to him a smile each time. Even if they are small and wiry.

Hours later, they arrive in Hammerhead. It is nowhere near as busy as it once was. Most people must have moved onto the other territories by now. Or they have gone to Insomnia to help with the reclamation efforts. _We've got a job to do here,_ she hears. It makes her want to believe that some have left Hammerhead just because they can. 

Cindy and her tow-truck are nowhere in sight. The mechanic is probably out on a job. Hammerhead feels even emptier without her there to welcome them back.

“We should check in with Cindy,” Ignis says as he hops down from the truck.

“Doesn't look like she's around,” Gladdy says. He is the last to climb out of the bed. “Truck's gone.”

“How about some lunch?” Iris says as she rounds the side of the truck. Talcott appears from around the other side. He grins awkwardly.

“Yeah, lunch sounds good.”

But Gladdy shakes his head. Ignis and Prompto just tug at the edges of their uniform. 

“You go on ahead,” her brother says. “We'll catch up with you later.”

* * *

Takka surprises them with a new menu item: some kind of tiny, stringy fish. Apparently the fish had been delivered fresh that morning from the south. It proves difficult to chew. And it tastes very fishy. Even still, it is the first not-canned meal they have had in a long time. So Iris does not complain when she accidentally swallows a bit of bone.

Then Cindy pulls in. Talcott is the first to notice her. He sets down his knife and fork. Nods his head toward the window.

“She's back,” he says. They both get up. She stops. Then turns to look at Takka standing behind the counter.

“We're going to finish this,” she says to him, and motions at her plate. “We'll be right back.” Takka just nods and continues scrubbing a glass.

Cindy has just finished backing her truck into its usual spot between her garage and the store. When she sees them, she grins wide and waves. 

“Glad to see y'all here,” she says. Lifting Talcott's cap from his head, Cindy ruffles his hair. Ducking, Talcott's shoulders hike up, laughing. “Just got back from Lestallum.”

“Is Cid here?” Iris asks. Peeking up at the cabin, it looks empty.

“Nah,” Cindy says. Placing Talcott's hat on his head, she twists it by the brim back to centre. Talcott grins up at them from under it. “I was s'pose to bring him home, but he had a nasty fall on some of them stairs.” She crosses her arms. “Hurt his hip real bad. They're keepin' him in their hospital until he heals up, so he won't be comin' home for another week or so.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Iris says. Cindy just stretches her arms backwards. They crack loudly.

“Not as sorry as they'll be. Paw-paw was right miserable. The staff's gonna have a real hard time tryin' to keep him off his feet.” The mechanic sighs. “He's just been chompin' at the bit to get back home.”

“I don't envy his nurse,” Talcott says. “I'll pay him a visit real soon.”

“He'll like that,” Cindy says. “And how about them boys? Where are— oh!” Iris turns a little on her heel. The other three have emerged from inside the store. “There they— oh.” Prompto waves at Cindy. It takes Cindy a moment to lift her hand and wave back. Then she glances at Iris. But Iris looks away. 

“Heard you have work for us,” Gladdy says as they get closer. 

“Well, yeah.” When Iris glances up at her, Cindy looks a little surprised. Then she just nods her head. “I've got some for y'all. Ya want a job now?”

“Yeah,” Prompto says quietly. “Definitely.”

“Well, alright then.” Cindy gives a good tug on the sleeves knotted at her waist. “I've got somethin' that needs to be delivered to the old outpost. Dave has his hands full trying to get the place back up and runnin'. Think ya could take that up to him?”

“Of course,” Ignis says. Pulling on the cuff of his glove, his fingertips meet and part. “We'll leave straight away.” 

“Oh!” Iris looks between them all. “Right now? We haven't finished eating yet.”

“Go ahead and eat,” Gladdy says. Raises a hand. “Talcott, can we borrow your truck?”

Now Talcott looks surprised. She probably does too. He lets out an _uh_. Fishing the key out of his jacket pocket, Talcott drops it into his outstretched hand. It takes the soft thud of it against Gladdy's palm to rouse her.

“Wait,” Iris says. Her gaze lifts to meet her brother's eyes. But he looks away. “You're going without us?”

“We won't be long,” Gladdy replies. With his free hand, he touches his fingertips to her shoulder. Iris can hardly feel them through the fabric of her jacket. “See you in a bit.”

Stupefied, Iris cannot speak or move. Just watches as the Crownsguard follows Cindy to over to the garage. Their backs are to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay. I was hoping to have the remaining chapters fixed up and posted before today, but I wasn't able to clean up more than this chapter. I'm planning on having the last three up sometime later this week.
> 
> UPDATED 02/26/17: For some reason, I thought that the Prairie Outpost was considered to be old Hunter HQ, with the one in Meldacio being considered new Hunter HQ. I have no idea why I assumed this.


	8. Chapter 8

Iris had hoped that coming here would staunch the bleeding. But it is too late now. In the few days that they have been outside Insomnia, the Crownsguard have bled out. They are no longer just a three-legged thing: they are ghosts.

When the Crownsguard are in Hammerhead, they hover along its edges and around the back of Takka's Pit Stop. Should they ever brush hands or knock elbows, something like confusion affects their expressions. As though they are astounded by their own corporeality.

Cindy and Takka give them jobs whenever they ask for them. Like exploring collapsed fortresses. Or retrieving useful parts from defunct Niflheim machinery. Each time, Iris offers to go with them. Sometimes Talcott does too. But the Crownsguard always turns them down.

“Next time,” Gladdy tells them. Every time.

So Cindy and Takka put them to work elsewhere. Hammerhead has become established as a kind of halfway point between Insomnia and Lestallum. Convoys carrying supplies and people stop here to refuel. They also stop to ask for help with blown tires and stranded vehicles. Less frequently, they ask for extra protection from budding bandits.

Nowadays Iris spends a lot of time sitting shotgun in vans and tow-trucks. When the air-conditioning is not working as it should, she gets to roll down her window and hook her thumb on one side of it. Splay her fingers out the other. The wind cuts around her hand. It makes her think about the rawness of the air on the cliff. About rounding the base of the lighthouse to face the sea. It makes the joints of her fingers ache.

At night, Iris still takes to the watch platform. She keeps her sleeping bag tucked between some of the crates. On their first night back in Hammerhead, Cindy had offered her Cid's old bedroom above the garage. But Iris likes the watch platform. Except she is not sure why she would.

Up on the observation deck, Iris does not stargaze like she used to. Instead, she seats herself on the stool and stares at the lone camper across the parking lot. The other two campers had been towed away. She has no idea where they are now. Without looking inside the camper, she knows how her friends have arranged themselves: distant from each other. Their limbs folded against themselves. 

Sometimes, Iris thinks about the Marshal's text message. She should have called him. He deserved that. Cor Leonis had known Noctis longer than she had. He might have seen the prince on the day he was born. Might have witnessed him learning to walk. Learning to speak. An infant Noctis might have even tried to say his name. She thinks it would have sounded something less like Cor. And more like Coo. Iris ends up with the distal joints of her fingers holding up her head. 

_Thank you. I'll take care of it._ It is a soldier's response. She wonders where he is. What _it_ means. The kingdom, possibly. The monarchy is gone now. Yet she thinks it sounds like he is bleeding too. Even immortals must bleed sometimes.

Her mind is too circular a shape. It pushes out against all the flatter planes of her head. Eventually, Iris is too exhausted to think and just crawls into her sleeping bag. Then she stargazes mindlessly. She is not picking stars now. Not for anyone.

She tries to find the old constellations. The same ones she could see from the observation deck of the lighthouse. Or from her spot in the sea. But she cannot find them among all these stars. There are just too many of them. Gladdy might remember. He had always been good at remembering things.

The next morning, Iris plans to ask him. It is difficult to find things to talk with him about. But this is something. The men are helping Cindy unload boxes of recovered car parts into her garage. Ignis stands in the bed of the truck, handing boxes down to Prompto and Cindy. Iris waves at her brother as he emerges from inside the garage. Only he does not seem to see her. Just as Iris is about to call out to him, Prompto passes him. He leans over slightly and says something to him. Far too quietly for Iris to catch. Gladdy lets out a ragged breath. It is supposed to be a laugh, she realizes.

He had always been good at remembering things. Only, this is not that.

When Gladdy notices her, he waves from the elbow at her. Then he takes a box from Ignis and heads back inside the garage.

The distance between them is minimal. Barely more than a few metres. But maybe this is what a phantom pain looks like. 

His name seizes in her throat. Stunned, Iris watches as he unloads and deposits another box inside the garage. And then she slips away.

Inside the diner, Talcott offers her half his tin of preserved fruit. This time, she says no.

* * *

That night, Iris sits on the watch platform with her back resting against the wall of crates. It does not curve, but she pretends it does. Same as she pretends that the full moon spins overhead. Its light is so strong. All the stars closest to it look washed out in its glow. But it does not make the sky bright enough.

* * *

On their fifth day in Hammerhead, Iris discovers that it is getting harder for her to breathe.

She waits for Cindy in the passenger seat of the Hammerhead tow-truck. The window is already rolled down. Her fingers hook over the edge of it and drum against the glass. Cindy is somewhere in the garage. Gathering her things, Iris assumes. They got a call about a crashed car just about ten minutes ago. 

The fence around Hammerhead irritates her. Iris can feel it pressing in on her lungs. Thankfully, Cindy shows up right then. Sliding into the driver's seat, the mechanic flashes Iris a smile.

“Let's hit the road,” she says.

It is a little easier to breathe once they are outside the fence. But Iris can still feel the diamond-shaped impressions left on her lungs. It reminds her that this is only a brief reprieve. In a few hours, she will be back inside that airless place.

Lifting her fingers into the wind, Iris thinks of Caem. There was air there; there was more than just air. 

A long time ago, someone had called Cape Caem a lonely place. She thinks it was Cor. It had been the day after they had seen the prince sail off to Altissia. The Marshal had stayed the night with them. He had slept upright in a chair, if she remembers it right. In the morning, she had overheard him say those words to Dustin. Or maybe Dustin had said it to him.

Either way, Caem was not that. Caem was alone. But never a lonely place.

Iris remembers draping herself over the three-board fence to look out at the sea and the sunrise. Insomnia had left inkblot-shaped impressions on her fifteen-year old lungs. On her heart. The wind had seared the edges of her form. Made the hair on the bare portions of her arms and legs rise. Made her heart race with it.

She remembers ignoring the reasonable part of her and slipping through the fence. How her clothing had snagged a bit on the rough texture of the wood. How close she was to the edge of the cliff. It was the lip of the world, she knows. The sea was a mouth. She remembers how great a difference it was to stand on the other side of the fence. It had been like static clearing on a radio. All the things of the world hummed unintelligibly on one side; they spoke on the other. It had sounded like everything was saying _welcome_.

Maybe Gladdy should go to Caem. If she took him, he might see it then: all the ways he was falling apart. All the fragments he had left. And he might be able to piece himself back together there. Just as she had.

Or maybe Gladdy would slip through the fence too. Only, he might slip through more than just the fence. 

Her fingers curl in on themselves and rest on the lip of the window. There is a chill in her joints. It is from something sharper than the wind.

* * *

Several hours later, Iris returns to Hammerhead with a humming Cindy and a busted car. Once they have unloaded the vehicle, Talcott invites her to grab a meal with him. Takka's Pit Stop is empty but for them. Takka himself disappears to the backroom after serving up their late lunch.

Early dinner comes in the form of a surprisingly large fish and some root vegetables. It is an incredible meal, despite how hard the root vegetables are. And how sinewy the fish is. As she chews, Iris can taste salt on her tongue. She thinks she is imagining it.

Between bites, Talcott tells her about his day. Iris learns that he is the one who had found these turnips while out on a job up north near the prairie outpost. 

“I'm thinking about visiting Cid tomorrow,” he says suddenly. “You want to come?”

Iris chews her bite of turnip a few more times than necessary. 

“Maybe,” she finds a word. Then finds another, “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Talcott says. “Miss Cindy needs me to deliver something to Lestallum, so I figured I'd take the time to visit him.” He stabs his fork into a vegetable. “You don't have to decide right now. We'll head out in the morning.”

“Okay. I'll let you know.”

Their cutlery speaks in the ensuing silence. She can tell that Talcott is trying to find something else to say. He always tries his best to break these silences between them. Iris thinks she needs to try harder.

“Hey Talcott.” He hums in response. “Do you think about Caem at all?”

His eyebrows rise a little.

“Uh, sort of,” he says. “I don't remember it all that well though.”

“You were really young,” Iris say quietly. Nods to herself. 

“But, I do think about it sometimes,” he says as he leans back in his seat. He points the head of his fork up at the ceiling. “You know, if the house is still standing, what it all looks like now. If there's any bigger fish there.” Talcott grins pointedly at her. But she returns him only a faint smile.

“Do you want to go back to it?” she asks. The cutlery clicks against the edges of her plate as she sets them down. Iris leans forward a little over it.

He looks surprised again.

“I wouldn't mind seeing it,” Talcott says. And sets down his own knife and fork. “What's this about, Iris?”

The words get caught between her teeth. They irritate her gums. Grimacing a little, Iris leans away and into the backrest.

“I...” she says. Inhales. “... nothing. I'm just trying to figure something out.” Iris tries to smile. Talcott does not look convinced. He has known her for far too long, she realizes.

Picking up her knife and fork again, they feel too big in her hands. Too awkward to hold properly. Clumsily, she saws into her fish. Ignores the concerned look on Talcott's face. After about a minute, he resumes eating. Silence resumes too.

She should try harder. 

“Hey Talcott,” she says again. Stops cutting apart her fish. “When this is all over, where do you think you'll go?”

“I.” Pausing, a corner of his lip is tugged to the side in thought. “I don't know. Haven't really thought that far ahead, honestly.” He tilts his head to the same side. “Is that why you're thinking about Caem?”

Iris lets out a puff of air. It just resembles a laugh.

“Kind of.”

“Well, at least we've got time to figure that out,” Talcott says. “All this won't be done for, I don't even know. Years, maybe?”

At that, something cold forms inside her stomach. Her fingers curl around the handles of her cutlery. 

“But if it was, where would you—” Stopping, Iris shakes her head a bit. She needs to ask this right. “What I'm trying to say is, uh, when you think about home. Where is that?”

Tipping his head a little to the side again, Talcott grabs his own chin. 

“My... truck?” he says. Laughs. “That's kind of like my home. I sleep in it enough.” Lifting his gaze up toward the ceiling, Talcott runs his thumb run further along his jawline. “But, really, it's wherever you all are.” Grinning sheepishly, his eyes lower to meet hers. “That sounded really cheesy just now, didn't it?”

Now Iris laughs. Only it sounds more like a cough than a laugh.

“A little,” she says. “But I get it. 'Home is where the heart is'.” Her own eyes retrain on her plate. For some reason, it is a little difficult to look at him right now.

“So, Caem,” Talcott says. There is something about his voice that sounds careful. “Is that... home? To you?”

That cold thing in her nips at the walls of her stomach. Like it might give her frostbite.

“I don't know,” she murmurs. “Maybe.”

Glancing up at him, she watches as he shifts his jaw from side to side. She has a sense that whatever he is about to say next is dangerous. Something like the long knife he keeps on him. So Iris sets down her cutlery. Stands up. 

“I'll be back,” she says. “Bathroom.”

Looking a tiny bit disoriented, Talcott just nods.

Takka's Pit Stop has a single unisex bathroom at the back. Locking the door, Iris leans her back against it. Looks up at the paint-chipped ceiling.

 _But, really, it's wherever you all are_. It had been so easy for him to say it. It should be easy for her as well. But Gladdy is cutting her out. As are Prompto and Ignis. As has Insomnia.

But she can see herself everywhere in Caem. At the edge of the cliff. The top of the lighthouse. The rough gardens. In the water surrounding the hidden pier. She had found something indomitable inside herself there; she had found a daemon-slayer within. All because it had said _welcome_ to her.

If she goes back, she might find something else there. Like a way to piece together the old constellations. Or a way to piece them all back together.

When Iris leaves the bathroom, she finds Talcott still seated. His plate is mostly clear now. When he looks at her, she recognizes the shape of worry in his eyebrows and mouth.

“Iris.” But she shakes her head. 

“I'm fine.” Her voice trembles a little. Hopefully, it sounds like it does from laughter. Sliding back into the booth, she picks up her knife and fork again. “When you get back, we should look for more of these.” Iris points her knife at a turnip.

Talcott nods hesitantly.

* * *

While Talcott fills up his truck, Iris leans against it. She is not going with him to Lestallum. They both know this. Setting the pump back in its holder, he nods at her. Iris smiles and gives him a hug. Her face sort of presses into his shoulder. Sometimes it surprises her how tall he has become.

“Drive safe,” she says. 

“I don't know,” he says, “Driving dangerously sounds like it might be fun.”

They both laugh. It feels good to laugh. Stepping out of the hug, Iris bumps his arm with the back of her hand.

“You better not!” It is tricky to laugh and sound threatening at the same time. She does not think she manages it.

“I won't, I won't,” he says. Then the laughter in his voice vanishes. “Hey, about Caem. We can—”

“Say hello to Cid for me.” Iris does her best to keep her smile. It feels almost real. Talcott nods and sighs a little.

“I will,” he says. Reaching out, his fingertips find her elbow. He opens his mouth to say something else. And laughs instead. “I was just about to say something really cheesy.”

“What?” she asks. Feels her smile transform on her face. It turns sly.

“You know _what_.” Talcott grins widely. “I'll see you later.”

“See you,” she says. As he climbs inside the truck, she steps clear of its path. The truck growls lowly when it turns on. From inside the cab, Talcott lifts the brim of his hat at her. Shoots her a crooked smile. She watches as he drives on out and disappears into the distance.

Now she feels how big Hammerhead is. How far away the fences all are. It is so quiet here. So airless.

Fifteen minutes later, Iris finds Cindy half-inside the hood of a car inside her garage. Cindy has three project cars. The Crownsguard have permanently borrowed one of them for themselves. She is here to ask for one of the others.

“Sure thing,” Cindy says. Jabs a thumb at the vehicle behind her. The mechanic slides out and back down onto her feet. Retrieving the keys for Iris, she joins her at her pet project. “Where is it ya're goin'?”

“Caem,” Iris says. It feels good to say it. “I'll be back in a couple days.”

“What's ya goin' out there for?” the mechanic asks. Furrowing her brow a little, she sets a hand on her waist. “Forget it, it ain't my business. Give me a call if the old girl gives ya any trouble.”

“Thanks Cindy,” Iris says. Their eyes meet. To her surprise, Cindy looks away. Troubled. “If Gladdy asks...” Iris stops. She does not know what to say.

“I'll tell him ya're out on a job.” Cindy supplies. “Just, promise me ya'll come back.”

A little stunned, Iris can feel herself blink.

“I'm not— Cindy, I'm not leaving, forever,” she says. “I really will be back.”

“I didn't say ya were,” Cindy says. “But it's good to hear.”

Opening up the trunk, Iris starts to load her belongings into it. She does not have much: her backpack, sleeping bag, some rations. Herself. As she rounds the car to get into the driver's seat, she cannot make herself look at Cindy. Instead, she nods in her general direction before pulling out of the parking lot.

It has been a while since she last drove a car. Iris thinks she is a fine driver. She just does not care to drive much. Not like Talcott does. Right now, the wheel is a comfort under her hands. As is the pedal under her foot. 

Astonishingly, the car purrs quietly all around her. It looks older, so Iris had expected it to grumble a lot. The relative quietness is a little off-putting. But when she tries to turn on the CD player, she discovers that it is busted. The radio is too. Iris has to remind herself that all the stations are probably just filled with dead air anyways. So she should not mind.

Occasionally, she passes another car. Otherwise, the roads are empty. The grasslands are empty too. At least to her eyes. Iris wants to think that there are living things in those fields. Like burrowing rodents. Or at least insects. 

After an hour of driving, she begins to feel how spacious the car is. Almost too spacious. It hits her then. For the first time in nearly a decade, she is alone.

It feels like the steering wheel is slipping out from under her hands. Her skin starts to pimple. Slowly, Iris steers over to the shoulder of the road and parks. The car continues to purr. After a minute, she thinks she can smell the exhaust. But she does not curl her lip. Or wrinkle her nose. Iris can hardly move.

She is alone. 

Turning the key, the car shuts off. She stares ahead at the road that stretches away from her. At the blue sky stretching overhead. She could go anywhere now, she realizes. If she wanted to. Just because she can. 

_I didn't say ya were_. Iris clenches her jaw. The tops of her palms brace against the steering wheel. And her fingers lift away from the wheel and curl. 

She will be back once Caem has told her how to fix them. Iris turns the car back on and merges again into her lane. _Went to Lestallum,_ a hunter had said. _He left as soon as the sun came up._ He had gone back to where he belonged. Just as she is doing.

Arriving at a T-intersection, Iris looks both ways. There are no approaching vehicles. So she completes her left-hand turn onto the road. A few minutes later, a car appears far off in the opposing lane. There used to be a settlement ahead, if she remembers correctly. That coming van might hold people who have re-settled there. She is just like them. Putting the world back in order again; putting themselves back too.

She thinks of Caem. Of the call of gulls in flight overhead. The way their shadows drew circles on the earth. The light on the soil and lush leaves in her garden. Of how uneven the ground had been there. Even more so than the worst of the poorly paved alleyways in Lestallum. Iris thinks of the lighthouse. Up on its observation deck, she had felt so far away from everything. So close to everything.

She could see all the stars in the sky from Caem. All the old constellations. She would find them again.

_Is that... home? To you?_

Eyes burning, Iris accelerates. She hopes it is. Only, ten years is a long time for anything. It had seen Talcott move home into a truck. Seen people move her worth into an armchair. It had seen the Crownsguard learn to live on hope. Iris hears her own voice now from all those years ago: _He'll be back. You said the Crystal chose him, right? Then he'll be back._

Noctis had come back. But then he was gone. Like a shooting star. Breaking apart Gladdy's constellation. Because he had been a part of his constellation. Just as the prince had been a part of her own.

Lifting her foot off the gas, the car begins to slow naturally. The road is very blurry. She has to pull over again.

Maybe Amicitias have a thing for trying to save people they cannot save. Iris thinks about her father and the king. Her brother and the prince. She thinks about herself and the Crownsguard. About how mere humans cannot save a shooting star.

She has to go back. Forgetting to check her rear-view and side mirrors, Iris pulls back onto the road and performs a U-turn. To her luck, no one else is on the road with her.

Gladdy, Ignis, and Prompto are the stars in her constellation. Just as all things are: whole in their separate units. But a thing made more meaningful when pieced together.

They are dangerously close to burning out, she knows. Iris can only hope that they will stabilize. All that she can do is shine bright right beside them. All she can do is to say to them _welcome_.

* * *

When Iris returns to Hammerhead, Cindy comes out of the garage to meet her. There is something about the woman's expression that looks more relieved than amused.

“Forget somethin'?” Cindy asks as Iris gets out of the car.

“Yeah,” Iris says, “I did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to apologize again. I really wanted to have the last three chapters up today, but it didn't work out. :(


	9. Chapter 9

The next afternoon, Talcott returns to Hammerhead. Cid is not with him.

“I asked if he could, but they said he just needed a couple more days there,” he says to Cindy and Iris as he steps down out of his Truck. “His sprain is pretty brutal. Almost as brutal as he is.”

By tilting his head down, the brim of his hat hides most of his face. Talcott makes a show of tugging off his gloves. He must be trying to hide a smile. But Cindy does not try to disguise her own.

“I'll tell him ya said that,” Cindy says. It makes Talcott snap to attention. His smile is all teeth and raised eyebrows. 

“Please don't!” he says. “He was already letting the nurse have it when I was there. 'If I have to rot inside some room, let me rot away in Hammerhead!'” It is a bad impersonation. Even still, it makes both Iris and Cindy laugh. “I really don't need his frustration pointed at me.”

“Alright, alright,” Cindy says. “I won't tell Paw-paw. Iris?”

“I won't either,” Iris assures him. “It's good to hear that Cid still has a lot of fight left in him. I feel bad for the nurse though.” 

“Same,” Talcott says. “Really, I don't think anything could take the fight out of Cid.” Dipping his head, Talcott pockets his gloves. “He and you are a lot alike that way.”

Iris can feel her eyebrows shoot up. When Talcott lifts his head a little, she can just see his smile. His teeth press into his bottom lip to keep him from laughing out loud.

Cindy does not even try to disguise her own smile. Or her laughter either.

“I'm going to take that as a compliment,” Iris says. The middle of her face feel so squashed by her eyebrows pressing down and the corners of her mouth up. Talcott throws his head back and laughs with the mechanic. 

It is impossible for Iris not to join in.

* * *

For the past two nights, Iris can remember parts of her dreams vividly. In them, she is in Caem. Or in Lestallum. Sometimes she is in Insomnia. Far less frequently, Iris finds herself in the sea. She is not alone in these places. Her father might be there with her. When he is, he offers his hand to her. Iris takes it and together they step through a waltz. It is not long before they are bored with the repetition of those steps. Their dance becomes less formal. He turns his hand in hers and raises them above her head so that she can twirl beneath. She tries to get him to twirl under her own hand. And it makes them both laugh.

In reality, they did not dance together often. She thinks the last time might have been her middle school graduation ceremony. Just before the king's health took another turn for the worse.

When it is not her father who is there, it is Noctis. The prince looks just as she remembers him. He dances with her too. In reality, this had never happened. Not once. But his hand feels so real in her own. They step around each other on the top of the cliff at the cape. There is no fence in this Caem. So when they step out over the edge of the cliff, her heart lets out a terrified beat. But they do not fall. The air has a feel under her feet. The stars do too overhead. Noctis tries to twirl her, but his hand is not turned the right way. He is not an adept dancer. And that makes both of them laugh.

These dreams lend Iris strength when she wakes up.

She draws on that strength when overhearing the Crownsguard in Takka's Pit Stop later that day. The establishment is empty but for them and Takka. And her. They sit huddled in a booth at the back. When Iris enters, they do not look up at her. Takka does. They exchange nods and small smiles. She is just about to ask for a dish of those thin fish when she is stopped by Ignis.

“...tomorrow,” she hears Ignis say. “With the water treatment facility up and running again, there is likely to be an even greater number of people entering the city. The Marshal will need our assistance.”

“Yeah,” Prompto says as he chews whatever he is eating. Then he swallows. “He sounded pretty swamped on the phone.”

“We'll have to be ready to hitch a ride with that convoy tomorrow,” Gladdy says. And takes a sip from his glass of water. Her throat feels so dry all of a sudden. Catching Takka's eye with her own, Iris mouths a _please_ to him. The man just nods. He probably gets it. 

Slipping back outside the diner, Iris is stopped by Ignis again. _A few days would not hurt any,_ she hears in her mind. She has to remind herself that she cannot save them. But it still makes her ribs feel so cold against the inside of her skin.

* * *

Iris has just finished helping Cindy clean and put away a large number of tools when she spots Gladdy coming out of the convenience store. Alone. This makes his silhouette against the sunset even more striking.

Iris had used the time to think when she worked with Cindy. This time, she did not bother to practise her question.

She crosses the distance between them quickly. Out of habit, Iris places a hand lightly on his arm. He shies away from it slightly. 

“Hey,” she says. Surveys their surroundings. Through the doorway to the convenience store, she can just see Prompto and Ignis huddled around the clunky coffeemaker. “Could I talk to you for a minute?”

Glancing up at him, he almost looks like he is about to say _no._ Except then he gives her a tiny nod.

She leads him around the back of Takka's Pit Stop. It is not exactly private back here. But it is close by. And it is outside. The camper or a room inside the garage might be too much for him. She cannot risk him changing his mind about this.

Right now, his expression is mostly blank. Save for his eyes and eyebrows. Iris can just make out his discomfort in them.

“I won't keep you long,” she says. Only it does nothing to make him relax. The muscles in his neck look like they bunch up a little more. Iris instinctively stretches her own neck a little. 

She has to do this right.

“You're going back to Insomnia, aren't you?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Gladdy mutters. His weight shifts between his feet. Leans a bit in the direction they just came from. “Tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Iris says. Plants her feet hip-width apart. “I just have to ask you something. And I want you to be completely honest with me.” As her eyes study his expression, their eyes meet briefly. It makes her heart leap into her throat. She has to say it now. While she has his eyes. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Gladdy's mouth parts slightly. His eyebrows curve up.

“What?”

“When you go back. Do you want me there?” Only her fingers move in this moment. They run absently over the knuckles of her other hand. When Iris notices, she forces her hands back to her sides. 

Then something about his face seems to crack. Iris thinks she can spot the chink just around his eyes. Some kind of horrible thought is dawning on him. It dawns on her too.

“This isn't an ultimatum!” Iris says. Waves her hands a little at him emphatically. “I'm not asking you— this isn't choosing between—”

She has to stop. Take a deep breath. Her eyes shut as she does. She has to do this right. Opening her eyes, Iris says, “Whenever you want me to be, I'll be there for you.”

Gladdy looks stunned. For several seconds, they stand there in silence.

“You're asking if I—” he manages to say. Their eyes meet again. Only, it is as though her eyes are predators. And he only holds her gaze because he is too scared not to. A side of her stomach aches at that.

“I want to know how I can help,” she says. 

Gladdy breaks eye contact. Seconds pass. Her hands make to meet again. But she stays them. 

More seconds pass. Iris knew that it might be hard for him to decide. A part of her wishes she had been wrong about that. This silence makes her heart feel so tiny in her chest.

“It,” he says, “has to be us.” 

Iris is not in that _us_. She can tell. Her throat constricts. The backside of her eyes begin to prickle. But she does her best to peel her lips back into a smile.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” he echoes. Clearly confused. 

“Okay,” she says again. Her smile splits wider and up into her eyes. He gave her an answer. Not the one that she wanted. But it is an honest one. 

For the first time in a long time, she thinks he sees her. Really sees her.

“I won't come,” Iris says.

A tear leaks out. Tipping her head back a little, she hopes that the tear rolls down and off by her ear. Out of Gladdy's sight. But he must have seen it. Raising a hand, her brother almost takes a step towards her. But then he drops his arm. Looks away.

“It's okay,” Iris says. Holding back the second tear, Iris tries to get him to look at her. When Gladdy does, she smiles as wide as she can manage. “See? It's okay.”

Her brother straightens up a little. Sucks in his lips for a second.

“We should go,” Iris says. “They're probably looking for you.” It takes him a few seconds before he nods. Just as he turns to go, Iris says quickly, “Gladdy.”

He turns to look at her over his shoulder. Meets her eyes. But this time, he does not look so scared. She nearly lets that second tear loose. “I mean it,” she says. “When you're ready, I'll be there for you. Always.”

Something changes in his expression. This time, there is no crack. Iris can spot the difference just around his mouth. His shut lips form a gentle line there. Gladdy gives her a nod.

“Thanks,” he says.

It is enough to make Iris release that second tear.

* * *

The convoy that the Crownsguard had been waiting for arrives late the next day. Iris had hoped she would have time to speak with Ignis and Prompto before they left. But the three of them had been gone for most of the day running smaller errands for Cindy.

So now she settles for giving them the best smile she can muster.

“I've got a phone now,” Iris says. Shakes the phone in her hand. “So if you need me, give me a call, okay?”

They just nod back at her. She did not expect more than that. Then Iris touches the outside of their arms. Almost mechanically, they return the gesture.

It grows harder to smile; it grows harder to breathe. This could be the wrong choice. She should go with them. But Iris ignores that thought. All of the bones in her body ache as her friends store their larger pieces of weaponry into the bed of a truck. Then they climb inside the truck itself. To her surprise, Gladdy waves goodbye to her.

Once the convoy is just a collection of taillights in the distance, Talcott touches her shoulder. It startles her.

“Sorry,” he says. His teeth press into his bottom lip for another reason now. Shaking her head, Iris puts that smile back on her face. 

“It's alright. What's up?”

“Oh, I just wanted to ask— there's supposed to be a meteor show tonight. At least, that's what I heard in Lestallum.” With his other hand, he fidgets with his hat. “I was wondering, would you mind if I sat with you up there?” Talcott nods at the watch platform.

Glancing at the road, Iris cannot see the taillights. They are long gone.

“Not at all,” she says.

An hour after the sunset, Cindy and Talcott join her on the watch platform. Talcott has his sleeping bag. He lays it out on one end of the platform and crawls into it. Cindy takes the stool while Iris leans across the top of the crates.

“There!” Cindy shouts for the umpteenth time. Talcott and Iris miss it for the umpteenth time.

“You're so good at spotting them!” Iris says, looking back at the mechanic in admiration.

“Just lucky, I guess,” she says. “Oh look, another!”

“Augh!” Talcott rustles in his sleeping bag. “I missed that one too.”

So did Iris. But she did find two stars she recognizes. They are a part of an old constellation. She cannot find the rest of it. It does not matter. Maybe it is time to make a new one.


	10. Chapter 10

There are still no curtains on the windows in the Leville.

Iris knows that there are many curtains still in Insomnia. They sit on shelves inside the city's abandoned home decor and big box stores. Curtains hang inside apartments and finer restaurants. Most are likely to be torn or stained. But it is unlikely that new curtains will be made anytime soon.

Within the last three months, various factories across Lucis have been restored to working order. Even still, many people have not returned to work. Iris does not know where they have gone to. Only that they have gone. She thinks that they might have come to the same realization as her: that this world cannot be as it once was.

The ceiling fan rapidly rotates overhead. Iris watches it turn from her bed. The two queen beds have been pushed apart, so Iris has this one all to herself. The other bed is shared by an older hunter couple. She can hear one of them snoring lightly from beneath the thin sheets. 

Her cell phone buzzes against her thigh.

It is not her alarm. That had already gone off about an hour earlier. Slipping her hand into her pocket, Iris digs it out. Her thumb swipes across the screen to accept the call. As she moves the phone to her ear, she glances at the caller ID. It reads: _Gladdy._

Iris springs upright. 

“H-hello?”

“Hey.” His voice is every bit as gravelly as she remembers.

“Hey,” she echoes. Dazed. Gladdy has not called her in nearly three months. He had preferred to exchange text messages. So had Ignis and Prompto.

“You're still at Lestallum, right?” he asks. She dimly nods her head. Only to remember that he cannot see her. 

“Yeah,” Iris says. “What's up?”

“I'm on my way there. Just give me an hour. Think we could meet up?”

“Yeah, sure,” she says excitedly. “Where do you want to meet? At the Leville?”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Gladdy says. “See you then.”

There is a beep. It takes her a moment to register that he has hung up. Lowering the phone from her ear, she stares at the display. It informs her that the call had lasted only a couple of seconds. But it had felt so much shorter than that. 

“Who was that?” she hears from the opposite bed. Iris makes to look at them. Except that the entire room sort of slides out of focus. 

“My brother,” she says. Sounding as dumbfounded as she feels. _See you then,_ he had said. There is something about the way he said it that makes her almost dare to smile.

* * *

Iris waits just outside the main entrance to the Leville. The pavilion here is nearly empty. Almost all of Lestallum's refugees have moved on. Some have left behind their lean-tos and improvised tents. Most have taken their few possessions with them.

She spots her brother as he rounds a street corner. His towering figure is distinctive. Only, it is his bared tattoos that her eyes find first. He is not in uniform. It is much too hot in Lestallum for that. Especially now that the sun is back. But the tank top and the slacks look odd on him.

He spots her then. Raising a hand, he waves. Her eyes find the shape of his mouth next. It almost looks like he is smiling. 

“Iris!” Gladdy says. 

He is smiling.

It makes her breath stall in her lungs. Impulsively, Iris smiles back.

* * *

“Where are the others?” she asks as they climb into her own beat-up four-by-four. Gladdy lowers himself into the passenger seat. It groans under him. As do the doors when they shut them. “Are they okay?”

“Yeah,” he says. It takes a few tries for his seat-belt to lock. “They're fine. We're just... figuring things out.”

He sounds unsure. But not angry. Or sad. She decides not to pry. Instead, Iris turns the key in the ignition. The car coughs into life. As she pulls out of the parking lot and onto the road, Gladdy fiddles with the radio. The one in this car is not busted.

In their area, only two stations come in clear. One is a news station. The other is a music station with no real defined genre. Whenever Iris has listened to it, she had been subjected to arrangements that heavily feature banjos. To her surprise, Gladdy leaves it on the latter. 

He surprises her again just minutes later. Turning down the music a few notches, her brother tells her about Sophia and Randall's booze raid. The two hunters had stumbled across a few bottles of Lucis Caelum CIV Cognac Grande Champagne: one of the most expensive alcoholic drinks in all the world. These had been hidden away inside a safe in the manager's otherwise innocuous office.

“But why did they bust open the safe anyways?” she asks.

“Apparently it was already open,” Gladdy says. Shrugs. “'Course, they're worthless now. Randall just had to try some. You could tell just by looking at him how bad it tasted.”

They both laugh at that. Everything seems surreal. Maybe it is. Nervously, Iris tightens her grip on the wheel. But it feels solid enough in her hands. So this might really be happening. They are together again. And headed for Caem.

It had been his idea too. Although he gave her no explanation, Iris told herself she did not need one. 

In the last three months, the hunters have worked hard to clear the roads. But they must not have made it as far as Cape Caem. The further south they go, the less drivable the road becomes. Occasionally, the Amicitias are forced to stop and clear whatever debris is blocking their way.

The further south they go, the more overcast the sky becomes.

“Looks like it'll start pouring soon,” Gladdy says. “Let's pull over here.”

There is no need to stay overnight at a haven. But they do anyways. Gladdy manages to finish setting up the tent just as it starts to rain. Iris ducks inside it with him. They sit cross-legged on the floor and eat lukewarm canned goods. Then Gladdy produces the bottle of whiskey promised to her by Randall and Sophia. 

“They didn't just find shitty cognac,” he says.

Laughing, the Amicitias take turns taking swigs from the bottle. It almost feels like the tent might collapse in on itself, the rain hits it so hard. Hits it so loudly. Iris almost cannot hear the punchline to Gladdy's joke. But she does. It is probably not as funny as the whiskey makes her think it is. She laughs anyways.

* * *

The next day, they arrive at Caem just as the sun begins to set.

It does not look as she remembers it. Her house lies in pieces. Its roof had collapsed at some point. Now the whole structure rots. It stinks from the salt air and the rain. Her gardens are waterlogged in places and parched in others. No vegetables or fruit sprout in that soil. Not even weeds. All of the surrounding trees have no leaves. Some of them have toppled over.

Only the lighthouse still stands. Its light is likely defunct. But the shape of it rising against the sky is the only consolation she has.

Gladdy silently follows her up toward the lighthouse. Ever since they had pulled into the small parking lot, he has not said a word. As they get higher, Iris can make out the form of the three-board fence along the cliff. Only parts of it still stand. Her skin prickles. It makes her sneak a glance at him over her shoulder. A long time ago now, Iris can remember being afraid that he might slip through more than just that fence. 

But Gladdy does not gravitate towards the edge of the cliff. Instead, he follows her inside the lighthouse.

To her surprise, the elevator still works.

“Come on, Gladdy,” Iris says as she steps inside it. She watches as his eyes sweep the wreckage around them. A daemon must have gotten inside. The shelves and crates have been torn apart. Then he joins her.

Something like instinct wants her to press the down button. Iris presses up. Down will only be more destruction. The hidden pier is probably ruined. The place they took that photograph with everyone is no more.

The elevator stops. Its doors open. Above her sits the heart of the lighthouse. It is encircled by windows. One of them is smashed. Iris tiptoes over its shards to reach the man-door to the observation deck.

Her breath goes short when she opens this door. The wind hits her forcefully. Something more than salt saturates it. Whatever it is makes it feel so dense. Suddenly, Iris is fifteen again. Small and powerless against the wind.

Only, she is not fifteen. Not anymore.

Together, the Amicitias rest their forearms against the railing. Below them, the sea churns. It looks like stone from up here. Its frothing looks like moss.

“Iris.” Her name takes the breath out of her. Iris looks up. The sun ahead of them catches in her eyes. It is almost level with them. Her eyes scrunch up.

“Gladdy?” she just barely manages to say. Turning her head to the right, she opens her eyes again. His own catch hers.

“I need to tell you something,” Gladiolus says. Holds her gaze. All of a sudden, she cannot feel the wind.

“Okay,” she says. “I'll listen.”

Her brother half-turns his face away from her. The red sunlight only hits parts of him. It makes all his scars look deeper in his skin.

He tells her what happened in Insomnia.

Iris listens. And maybe the sun does too. It seems to linger on the horizon. Only once Gladdy is done does the sun finally slip down behind the sea.

By the end of it, she can no longer breathe. His words have become her oxygen. This silence is suffocating.

But she does not ask for more. 

He cannot tell her more. Iris knows this by how his voice trembled. By his stony expression. How he had to stop to breathe. To finds the words. The full story is too heavy to be spoken. There is just too much that words cannot convey.

In the sky overhead, the stars have begun to make their appearance. She cannot help but think again about all the people they have lost. There are too many stars. But even using all of them, Iris does not think they could draw a constellation for this tale.

* * *

The two of them sit for hours up on the observation deck. Their backs are against the curving wall of the lighthouse. Neither have spoken since he told her. They pass the half empty bottle of whiskey between them.

The moon is just beginning to wax. The stars are so clear in the darkness overhead.

“I'm trying to pick one,” Iris blurts out. Feels her face go hot.

“What's that?” Gladdy asks. It is tempting to pretend she had said something else. But Iris knows she cannot bring herself to lie.

“A star,” she says. “For Dad.” Iris looks at him. Something like a smile pulls at the edges of his mouth. 

“How about that one?” he says. Points a finger up at the sky without looking. It could be any of them.

This makes her smile. And feel a little sad too.

“Oh, just help me pick one!”

They point out stars for each other. Jab one another in the ribs and upper arms with their elbows. It is not long before they each have selected a star for their father. Iris thinks her star is best because it lies in the same direction Insomnia does. And it is very bright. Gladdy likes his because it sits just around the edge of their father's favourite constellation. 

Gladdy does remember old ones.

It takes the siblings something like two hours to finally agree on a star. It is neither of the ones they had picked before. This star sits close to the moon. Close enough that even that sliver of a crescent makes it look a little washed out.

“The old man would've liked that best,” he says. 

“Never one for the spotlight.” Iris sighs. Beside her, Gladdy laughs quietly. As neither speak, the sound of the sea reaches her ears. It sounds just as she remembers it.

“I want to live here again,” she says. When she looks at her brother, the whites of his eyes are almost blue in the darkness.

“Nice,” Gladdy says. Smiles. His teeth look almost blue too. “I'll help you rebuild the house.”

“I'll hold you to that,” she says. “But I think we should redesign it. My house needs more than one bathroom.”

“We can do that. We can build an entirely new house, just the way you want it.”

“Thanks, Gladdy,” she says. The bottle of whiskey is in her hands. There is only about a gulp left. Holding it up, she taps the side of it. “Want the last bit?”

“Go for it. They got it for you.”

Iris takes the final sip. The whiskey has kept them warm in the wind. Setting down the bottle, she stares at their father's star. Gladdy moves beside her. Maybe to get to his feet.

“We should pick one for—” She stops herself. When Iris looks over at him, he is just about to stand. Something more painful than whiskey hits her stomach.

“It's getting colder,” he says. “Let's head back.”

Iris nods stiffly. When they return to her car, Gladdy makes to pull the tent out from the trunk. But she waves him off. Crawls into the driver's seat. Gladdy is much too big for the back seat. He takes it anyways. Tilting the driver's seat backwards, Iris stops it just before it touches his nearest knee.

“Have enough room back there?” she asks. Just to hear his voice. 

“There'd be more room in the tent, if you'd let me pitch it.”

“Just go to sleep.”

They do. Or she does, at least.

* * *

Iris wakes up. Right ahead of her, Gladdy leans against the hood of her car. There is something about him that makes her breath feel thin.

When she opens the door, Gladdy glances at her over his shoulder. Then he looks away just as quickly. But she saw it. Sunlight had caught on the edge of it. When she rounds the hood of the car, she can see the rest of his tears.

He tips his head away a little. Lifting a hand, Gladdy points to the sun. It hovers just above the cliff. But his hand trembles in the air. Then drops. He says nothing. But Iris knows.

That is the star he has picked for Noctis. 

He releases a deep sob. It shakes her whole being. When he turns to face her, Iris holds out her arms. Gladdy steps into them.

This hug is unfamiliar. His head buries itself between her own head and shoulder. His arms crush her against him. Like he cannot bear to be apart.

“I missed you,” he sputters out.

Iris rests her forehead against him. Tears spill from her eyes. From her heart.

“Me too,” she says.

To their left, Noctis's star continues to rise.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for your time!


End file.
